Maybe two, or twenty
by Darkthorn998
Summary: Arthur remembers his lover. UsUk Tragedy/Romance. Warning: Suicide. Songfic. /watch?v KvfR6vI9HW0


**Sometimes.  
I kiss my scars.  
Its over with  
Is this it?  
**Arthur smiled at his company at the door, bidding them farewell and watching them leave before slowly pushing the door shut, listening to the click as the he turned the keys in the lock, taking the keys out of the hole and placing them onto a plate on the cabinet in the hallway, turning with an exhausted sigh and walking slowly to the bedroom, admiring pictures framed along the walls he walked by, barely needing to look at them now; it had been so long that he had memorized each detail of each photograph clearly, taking note of all the little things: hand gestures, facial expressions. He reached the bedroom and walked in, not bothering to shut the door behind him before he collapsed on the bed, the forced numbness giving way to a wave of emotion as he blinked back tears that had been threatening to spill all day. He should really be used to this by now, it happened every day as he stared at his dull wallpaper, memories of what had been; finally let free of their cages in the back of the Englishman's mind._**  
**_**Sometimes.  
I breathe in deep.  
Lungs close up  
I wish you married me.  
**Alfred was his name, and he had been- no, _was_- the most beautiful man Arthur had ever seen, shining eyes of the brightest blue and hair that fell just perfectly and framed the American man's face. He was Arthur's lover, his one true love, oh how trashy and dramatic that thought sounded to Arthur but it couldn't have been more true; with Alfred, Arthur felt everything that was described in films and more, he was Arthur's breath of fresh air, an escape from the outside, he was Arthur's whole world. He still was, it was just... Different. Arthur sometimes tried to convince himself that the last two years were just a horrible nightmare and he'd wake up in his Americans arms once again and everything would be alright, but he knew really, that this was all just a hopeful fantasy. Alfred was gone, **gone**, and it was his fault, he should have done something quicker... He would never forgive himself. Oh how he wished he had asked Alfred to marry him, he often dreamt of his wedding day before... Church bells and carriages and smart suits and family crying tears of joy, of the after party with congratulations and a dance with his beloved and he wished he could have shared all of that with his blue eyed hero... Why didn't he ask him...**  
Sometimes.  
I break down.  
Give up everything.  
But then I think.  
**And he cried, he cried for the memories, he cried for indescribable loneliness he felt and the way he knew in his heart that he would never find another quite like the arrogant, perfect fool he had fallen so deeply in love with, he'd tried, strange men in pubs, pretty women in clubs, but nothing seemed to erase the memories of his one true love, the one he had loved despite everything, the one he had hated every single quality about and the way he made Arthur feel, the way he managed to cause flutters in the Englishman's stomach whenever he winked, how he hated that cocky smile and the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke about his passions, and Arthur gave up, he stopped trying to move on and began to try to accept, or at least tried to erase his emotions, because no-one would ever be Alfred and Alfred would never come back and he ended up reverting back to solitude because it was less painful. He cried for himself, but most of all, he cried for the times lost and the things he'd never said to his American that he wished he could, he wished he could go back in time and hold Alfred's hands, telling him everything he found perfect about his lover, listing every single thing and talking in detail about why his American hero was so god-sent, he wished that he'd let Alfred know because maybe if he had, the bespectacled blonde would... Still be here... More tears fell.**  
About you,  
You're so strong.  
**He admired his American dearly, he truly believed that Alfred was the most wonderful thing ever sent to this Earth and wished he had known that too, he wished the hidden insecurities hadn't manifested themselves into something more, something fatal, he wished that his lover had never had the stresses of life put upon him because he didn't deserve that, he didn't deserve any of this, Alfred was so naive and young and he had that all stolen away from him by debt and reality, because reality hurt.**  
Its been 2 years since we even talked.  
But I still call hoping you'll pick up  
**Arthur occasionally called the now-memorised phone number, smiling to himself as he heard the familiar answer machine message; that loud, obnoxious voice that the Brit had always secretly adored, but never mentioned in a positive way out of fear. And now, that all faded to regret, because Arthur blamed himself, every day, he blamed himself.**  
It kills me.  
That you took your life.  
No one even knows  
You were my star and sky.  
**Arthur began to cry again, placing down the receiver after another listening to the answer machine message, Arthur's world was gone and no-one even knew because they kept their relationship secret, out of fear again. Another thing he regretted, maybe if Alfred wasn't under so much pressure he wouldn't have... Arthur sighed, he sometimes wished he wasn't such a coward and that he could end it all, he was sure no-one would miss him and he'd get to be with his lover once again in a plain of eternal bliss... But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't do it: He couldn't take the pills, couldn't jump from the ledge, couldn't stay underwater, all because he was a coward and a failure and it was _all his fault. _Alfred was beautiful...**  
Drift away,  
I could lie and try to say  
That I'm the same.  
Don't watch me cry over your grave.  
I'll take a drink.  
Maybe two, or twenty.  
**Arthur kept all of his grief covered up, pretended not to be in emotional agony daily because no-one would care and they'd probably just tell him to get over it. But how can you get over something that made your whole life, how can you get over the only thing that kept you going, the light of your world, the only thing that made you feel alive being ripped away, how can you handle a broken heart and toss it aside saying nothing matters when really all you want to do is die, and the only thing you can't do is die. So Arthur turned to alcohol, he drank to forget, drank to drown it out, drank to waste it all. But he'd always wake up never feeling any better.

He remembered Alfred's funeral, the red-faced, teary-eyed mourners who had never known Alfred like he had, the relatives and friends of the naive little angel in need of a friend, a companion, anyone to take away the confusion, to take away the fear of the real world, and that's what Arthur had tried to do, to help him through and to love and care for him.But... Obviously he had failed or Alfred would still be here... He still visited Alfred's grave once a week to give him flowers, usually roses but sometimes other flowers, flowers they had shared in life and flowers that they continued to share through the boundaries of death, and he didn't cry, not in public anyway, because he couldn't, he couldn't risk breaking down the numbness he faked for fear, fear being the main element in everything relating to Alfred after grief and regret. Red roses, a sign of love, of the eternal love the Brit would feel for his golden haired, blue eyed hero, the one he would never stop loving...****

You're watching me.  
Kiss another on the face  
I feel guilty.  
Though you aren't here,  
I don't dare to erase.  
I still pay for your phone  
So I can hear you speak.  
He remembered the overwhelming guilt he felt after trying to fill the cracks in his heart with the brief companionship of others, he remembered feeling he had betrayed his love and ruined everything, and he cried more, sobbing into his pillow now like the pathetic failure he thought he was. He kept the house exactly the way it was before Alfred died and never took down any pictures, sometimes sitting for hours staring at them, remembering, like he was now everything they had ever done together. The answer machine also helped with this remembering, and the two things combined left Arthur sobbing and crying out and screaming for his hero, asking him to come back, to come home to him and screeching brokenly about how Alfred had promised never to leave him, before curling up on the floor and slowly falling asleep, the tears slowly coming to a halt as the peace associated with oblivion returned once more, greeted all too kindly for something that would be taken away from him a few hours later.

**Drift away,  
I could lie and try to say  
That I'm the same.  
Don't watch me cry over your grave.  
I'll take a drink.  
Maybe two, or twenty.**

Arthur slowly felt oblivion come to claim him and he welcomed it with open arms, the tears still flowing as he got one step closer to his lover, if only for a little while, and he promised himself that from now on he would not be a coward, promised himself that he would be reunited with his American lover and that he would no longer be afraid, even if this _was _just a petty promise and something that he would likely break and give up on in the early hours of the morning, for now it was enough.

Tears still dampening the bed sheets, he whispered into the emptiness of his house.

'See you soon... love.'


End file.
